


Untitled Vignette

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	Untitled Vignette

Eames rouses, finally, blinking away streamers of dreamscape all muddled and metallic-tasting, to find himself - surprisingly, yes, but very nice surprisingly - in bed with Arthur. His first thought is that they got pissed last night and one of them finally made a move, but that prospect doesn’t even make sense given they are both fully dressed, it is daylight behind the bland drapes, and the headache he is suffering is a magnitude beyond that of any mere pub-crawl.

And, so. Arthur. 

Who leans up on an elbow and looks him in the eye intently. “Awake?” 

“Apparently.” Eames whispers at him. 

Arthur is not a man prone to stating the obvious, thank God. Rather, he puts two paracetamol in Eames’ hand, and follows the blessing with a glass of water which he then - the celestial choir trumpeting praise is only in his mind, thankfully - helps Eames sit up to swallow. And then helps him lay back down, pops a bendy straw in the water glass, and makes him sip more from that position. 

Truly, a god among point men. 

Finally, when Eames has drained the glass and summoned up the energy to direct a questioning gaze at Arthur, the man speaks again. “Bad Somnacin reaction. Helen’s out replacing the whole batch.” He pauses, surveying Eames. “You’ve been out a few hours. Mostly feverish. You need to hydrate.” 

“Right.” He says back, closing his eyes again. 

The weight on the bed lifts, water runs somewhere, and a different weight - Arthur sitting, now - returns. “Drink more.” 

Eames obeys, and does feel better. 

“You are my very favorite point man.” Eames opens his eyes to say it. 

Arthur looks at him solemnly and says, “and you are my very favorite forger.” 

“I’m the only forger.” 

The god among point men ticks a small smile at him, his emotions as efficient as the rest of him. “It’s a small data set, but you’re still number 1.” 

It hurts to laugh, but Eames only finds that out after, anyway.


End file.
